


Birthday Boy

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, M/M, Stubborn Sherlock, Surprise Birthday Party, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: This one is for Itsallgood, who, instead of screaming into the void, screams into my inbox. Happy happy birthday, you!Sherlock deduces his surprise party and doesn't want to go. John put a lot of effort into the blasted party, so they're going...right after some rough sex up against the walls of our very own 221B.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Itsallgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallgood/gifts).



Marriage really was about compromise. Their first had been a bit of a quid pro quo; John admitting to his middle name being Hamish in exchange for the knowledge that Sherlock didn't, in fact, drift down, fully formed from the heavens, but was born just like every other human. Well, the knowledge of the date of said birth.

The first year together, John let the day pass without notice. They were a month into marriage and in the midst of a case on their bloody honeymoon, and the only thing on his mind at the time was getting out of the back of the hotel lobby without inviting gunfire. So, no, they didn't celebrate, but they did end up having spectacular 'I can't believe we survived' sex in an alley.

This year, though, John was intent on getting everyone they worked with together, under one roof, to celebrate. He'd planned with Greg for a whole month to set it up and even managed to find a REAL conference out of town that he could go to, so as to not arouse suspicion. 

A month of planning, two nights in a horribly cheap hotel room with no mini fridge, and a train ride back with a crying baby, and there he was; getting the call that said everything had fallen apart.

"Please, god, tell me you're joking," he said, face in his hands in the terminal.

"He won't come," Greg said, the line scratchy. "Says he knows it's a surprise party. Maybe next year we can-"

"No. Stay where you are. Order the first few rounds on me. I'll be home in ten, and we'll make it," John interrupted.

Greg said something to the group and a cheer went up, but John wasn't paying attention. He rang off and walked with his luggage to the kerb, finding a cab and paying the woman extra to not take her bloody time.

_____

The second he was through the front door John heard the crash. Mrs Hudson was in the foyer with her hands covering her mouth, and he pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time. He swung open the door and slammed it behind himself, startling his madman of a husband mid-throw. 

The silence after the mug hit the floor was deafening.

"Sherlock," John said, staring intently at the man's back, it tensing as he huffed in a deep breath. "I don't care how you figured it out. I've been planning this party for ages, and-"

Sherlock spun, tear-stained face twisting, and nearly crumpled to the floor. John took the few steps between them and held his face up.

"Oh, love," John murmured. "Why on earth does this have you crying?"

"Y-you were gone. The conference, it wasn't a ruse, I don't-" Sherlock sputtered, chin wobbling.

John sighed and kissed the man's cheek gently before looking him in the eye. "Sherlock, you really thought I wouldn't be there?"

"You, you were gone," Sherlock whined.

"I was going to meet everyone there. Christ, love, they're waiting on us. Let's wash that pretty face of yours and go," John said, relaxing a bit, which was always a mistake around an emotional Sherlock.

There was a second where it really looked as if Sherlock was going to do as he was told, really, truly. John knew he was sunk in the next breath.

"John," Sherlock pleaded, batting his eyelashes in a way he knew John couldn't resist. 

"No. Nope. We're going to the party," John shot back, already trying to get around Sherlock to get a wet flannel for his blotchy face.

Sherlock stopped him where he was and pressed John against the wall. He thrust his hips and allowed his growing erection to be felt.

"I've missed you," he murmured. "Mr Cock missed you."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"We missed you so much," Sherlock said with a pout. "And we were clever and figured out the party. Couldn't we just stay home?"

John stared daggers at Sherlock, and when the genius simply thrust his hips, he spun him by those blasted things and pressed him face first into the bleeding wallpaper.

"I bought balloons, Sherlock," John grunted, pulling the man's dressing gown down his shoulders and off his arms.

"John, it's just," Sherlock began.

"Move an inch, and I swear you won't come for a week," John growled, stomping into the kitchen for some cooking oil.

When he made it back to Sherlock, the man had finally begun to listen. He pulled those posh pyjama trousers down and pressed a slick finger to Sherlock's arsehole. Sherlock moaned and rolled his hips, taking the tip in easily, willingly. John couldn't help but grunt at the way that silky heat enveloped him.

"I'm going to tell you exactly what's going to happen, yeah?" John said, pressing in and adding a second finger.

Sherlock whimpered and John twisted his fingers.

"Use your words now, love," John commanded.

"Yes, John," Sherlock answered, mouth falling open as John pressed his fingers into him expertly.

"I'm gonna fuck you, right here," John said, adding a third finger and pumping them with growing speed, "right now."

"Yes, John," Sherlock whined. "Please, John, anything you want."

John kicked off his shoes and pulled his trousers and pants down to mid-thigh, completely fine with whatever amount of oil got on them in the process. He allowed himself two quick strokes and then pushed into Sherlock's waiting heat.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Sherlock exclaimed, scrabbling for purchase against the wall.

John grunted and let out a rough laugh before pulling himself a bit more together. "Gorgeous. Yes. Alright, where the hell was I?"

"Balloons," Sherlock whimpered.

"Yeah, yeah," John agreed, burying himself in Sherlock over and over again. "I paid for balloons. I bought bloody banners, you great git. Right now, half the met is having a drink on MY TAB."

Sherlock moaned as John started to lose his rhythm.

"I had a cake made in the shape of a cadaver," John pressed, gripping Sherlock's hips roughly and bodily pulling him onto his cock.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock moaned, as much about the cake as the cock.

"Do you know the looks I got when I went in to have that done? Hmm? Do you know how much it costs to have a specialty cake made?" John asked, grunting now and getting so close to the edge that he felt like his cock was going to bloody burst.

"Please, John," Sherlock begged, all other words leaving his mind, replaced by what were now his only two thoughts; please and John.

"Fuck, you're so tight. God," John cursed, tipping over the edge, and burying himself deep to come. "God, yes."

Sherlock was babbling now, John's name falling unbidden from his lips over and over. John reached around and started to tug Sherlock off just as he was done coming, standing on his tiptoes, still sheathed in him, to speak directly into his ear.

"And now, you're going to come. You'll come, and clean up, and we'll go down to the pub to have cake and drinks, yeah? Because it's your bloody birthday and I love you, and everyone needs to know that!" 

The last bit came out as a shout and Sherlock curled around himself as he came.

_____

The room burst into applause when they made it through the door. The small pub was packed with people, all of them well on their way to inebriation, and all joyous.

John and Sherlock walked to the front and joined Greg just as the lot broke into song. Greg pulled out two chairs and slapped Sherlock on the back.

"Finally made it, eh? We thought you two might have got lost on the way here," Sally said, sidling up to them to order more shots.

John sat and Sherlock stared at the second seat before deciding John's lap was a softer choice.

"God," Sally exclaimed in mock horror, "you don't have to be so bloody affectionate."

Sherlock grinned and rested his head on John's shoulder, letting himself be wrapped in the warm cocoon of John's arms. Sally rolled her eyes and Greg handed John a lager.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock," Greg said. "I'm glad you made it."

Sherlock relaxed in John's lap and tried to look haughty. "I was promised cake."

"And cake ye shall have," Greg said, walking off to where the food had been set up.

"Happy birthday, love," John murmured, kissing Sherlock's curls.

"John?" Sherlock asked, voice barely audible over the din.

John chuckled and nuzzled into his neck. "Yeah, birthday boy?"

"How long do you reckon before you can bugger me in the men's?" Sherlock purred.

John snorted and let his eyes fall shut. "Insatiable," he murmured.

Sherlock grinned wide, let himself be held, and figured that birthday parties weren't that bad, after all.


End file.
